


the end of the world (for everyone but us)

by sevensevan



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Buffy Wishverse, F/F, Pre-Relationship, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-29 02:28:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18298433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevensevan/pseuds/sevensevan
Summary: Wishverse!Fuffy for the prompt: subtle kindnesses.





	the end of the world (for everyone but us)

**Author's Note:**

> hi! if you're wondering why i'm writing this instead of the month-overdue next chapter of sotd, it's because a few commenters on that story have decided to be particularly shitty and invite themselves to tell me how i should be writing it. some people have raised legitimate moral concerns regarding my handling of certain issues in that fic, and i appreciate those people; they've been polite and thoughtful and helpful. a few others have decided that my posting gay fanfiction on the internet is the same as writing a goddamn dissertation and are trying to bait me into defending it. thus my general lack of motivation to work on that fic. the next chapter will happen eventually, i promise, it might just be awhile.
> 
> anyways! i like this lil snippet; i want to write a multichap wishverse!fuffy piece at some point, but for now, enjoy this little peek into a universe i'm passionate about :)

Buffy leaves the bathroom only after the last of the blood on her hands is cleaned from the faux-porcelain sink. She can still feel it under her fingernails, on her skin, hot and sticky and reeking of iron and death. But her hands are clean when she looks at them, and her nails, though ragged, are clear, so she turns off the water. She takes a moment to look at herself in the mirror, counting the cuts on her face and wondering how many of them will scar. None will be as striking as the one that cuts across her mouth, but she’s proud of that one. She’s not proud of the scars that her current wounds will become.

Buffy returns to the main area of the shitty motel room, and Faith is there, waiting for her, sitting on one of the beds and leaning against the headboard. They’re less than a year apart in age, but standing there with her hands scrubbed raw and her eyelids so heavy she thinks she might collapse, looking at Faith, who is staring at her with wide, scared eyes, her knees drawn up to her chest, Buffy feels ancient.

“B,” Faith says. Buffy doesn’t respond, forcing her body to take the last few steps forward so she can collapse onto her bed. She splays out on her stomach, boots still on, on top of the sheets. “God, B, you could’ve let me help you clean up.”

“No,” Buffy says, and speaking takes everything she’s got. “You shouldn’t have to—to see that. All the…”

“Blood,” Faith says. She laughs, a high-pitched, hysterical sound. “It’s the end of the fucking world, Buffy. Why’re you trying to protect me from a little blood?” Buffy lifts her head enough to flip it around, so she’s looking over at Faith across the gaps between the motel beds.

“Because you’re worth protecting,” she says, too tired for their usual acerbic banter. Faith turns pink and almost smiles. Buffy knows  _exactly_  what’s happening there, and she can’t let it. Faith has a crush on her, and Buffy is sort-of-almost in love with Faith, and Buffy killed three people two hours ago and cannot allow Faith to think for  _one second_  that Buffy likes her back. Faith deserves better than that. She deserves better than this shitty world, and her Slayer calling, and a best friend-slash-Slayer-partner who kills people. Buffy can’t give her any of those things, but she can damn well protect Faith—from the blood, and the guilt, and Buffy herself.

“You drive me nuts,” Buffy says to Faith. “But you’re kinda keeping me sane. So I…I’m protecting you. Deal with it.” Faith gets up off of her bed. She walks over to Buffy and starts unlacing her boots. Buffy doesn’t protest. Faith tugs Buffy’s boots off, setting them carefully at the foot of the bed, tucking the laces inside. Buffy watches her out of the corner of her eye, and wishes she didn’t find it so cute, the attention Faith gives to such a minute detail.

Faith shoves Buffy over, further onto the bed, and Buffy doesn’t find that nearly as cute.

“Hey,” she says in protest. It’s weak; she’s already half-asleep.

“Move your ass,” Faith says, tugging the covers down. Grumbling, Buffy lifts herself up a bit, allowing Faith to pull the covers out from under her.

Faith crawls into bed next to her, pulling the sheets up over them both, and Buffy should stop her, should nip this in the bud, should make it clear to Faith that there isn’t,  _will never_ , be anything between them other than the shared curse of the Slayer.

Instead, when Faith scoots closer and wraps herself around Buffy’s side, Buffy leans into the contact. She tells herself it’s because she misses being touched gently, being held. Nothing is ever gentle anymore. The world is cold and Faith is warm against her side, and Buffy is strong, all day, every day, so she decides that maybe, just for tonight, a little bit of weakness is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading; if you haven't read my other fuffy fic i am politely begging you to bc it Is my child even if i'm neglecting it at the moment. i'm on tumblr @daisys-quake and on twitter @thoughtsintoink. please leave a comment and kudos if you enjoyed.


End file.
